


A Long Day's Walk

by usa123



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Protective Team, Suspense, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usa123/pseuds/usa123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many discoveries are made on the trip back from Azzano: Steve learns just how fast his metabolism burns, Bucky starts to realize exactly what was done to him in the isolation ward, and the Howling Commandos are privy to just how stubborn the boys from Brooklyn can be when it comes to their health. Filler for The First Avenger. No slash, no ships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Captain America, in any of its multimedia forms.

Contrary to popular belief, Steve Rogers wasn't used to being hungry. When he was a child, his mother had always managed to put some sort of food on the table, even if it was only ham bone soup. Because he was so small, he never ate much to begin with; adding in the fact that he was regularly sick meant he ate even less. And still Sarah Rogers worried day in and day out that she wasn't doing enough.

Even after she had passed and he and Bucky had moved into a place by themselves, they always prioritized food. In the later years, Steve had picked up a graphic design job for a few hours a week. Though this allowed them slightly more freedom with their finances, a good portion of their paychecks were still spent on foods that provided better nutrition than the cheap stuff they'd been buying previously.

Then, after his transformation, Steve was granted additional rations, thanks to Howard spouting technobabble in Phillips' direction until he'd signed the order. He wasn't very physically active while on tour, so the increased rations were enough to tide him over until the next meal, though he could never say he felt well and truly full. It was only during his sessions with Howard, where they working to safely quantify the limits of his new abilities, that he began to understand what real hunger felt like.

Rogers' last meal had been just before his scheduled show in Italy—that'd been over eight hours ago. He'd shoved food into the duffel bag he intended on taking with, knowing he was going to need it if the trip back took longer than he expected, but after the storm had hit, he'd been forced to swap the duffel bag for a parachute, so as not to further endanger Peggy or Stark. Before he'd jumped however, he'd stuffed as much food as he could into the pockets of his cargo pants, hoping that that'd be enough to get him home.

* * *

Steve's stomach rumbled loudly as he and Bucky hustled out of the Hydra base, but he was fairly certain it was masked by the flames crackling behind him. His senses were on hyper-alert as they crossed the open ground between the base and the tree line, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any possible threats. In his peripheral vision, he saw Bucky stumble over the uneven ground, so he reached back and grabbed the front of his friend's shirt, steadying him as they raced toward safety.

When they were about halfway to the forest, Steve heard the click of a safety being released and dove for the ground, dragging Bucky, whose shirt he was still clutching, with him. The bullet passed harmessly over their heads but that didn't stop Steve from pulling the shield from his back and jabbing it lengthwise into the ground in front of them. He spared a quick glance at Bucky who was lying on his back next to the supersoldier, struggling to catch his breath after the air had been knocked out of his lungs, and cursed himself for not bringing a proper weapon along. He had a knife lashed to his belt, but that wasn't going to do much good against the entire armed squadron behind the tree line, American or not.

As his brain scrambled to come up with a plan, he heard a deep voice yell "Hold your fire! It's Barnes and the Captain!"

Bucky perked up slightly and flipped onto his stomach, cautiously peeking around the shield. "Dum-Dum?" he rasped.

"You bet your ass! Hurry on in, boys. We got you covered."

Steve turned his head to look at Bucky, who nodded. "They're alright, Steve."

"Let's move then," he said, without any hesitation. He trusted Bucky's judgement implicitly, even (or especially) in the middle of a battleground.

The boys from Brooklyn stood, pausing only to let Steve yank his shield from the ground, then crossed the distance to the tree line in record time.

Once they'd reached the forest, a thickset man wearing a bowler hat hurried toward them. "You made it!" he shouted as he slung his rifle onto his back and pulled Bucky into a tight bear hug. "How are you, man?"

In the weak light from the burning base, Steve could see Bucky freeze in the man's embrace and heard his breathing hitch. The other man must have as well, for he quickly released Bucky and took a large step back. "Sorry."

"Not a big deal," Bucky responded with only a slight slur, the panic slowly disappearing off his face. "It's good to see you, Dum-Dum," he said after a moment, reaching out his hand.

After a brief hesitation and a questioning glance, Dum-Dum shook it enthusiastically, unable to stop himself from clapping Barnes on the shoulder as well. "Same to you, kid."

Then he released Bucky's hand and turned to face Steve. "I don't think I caught your real name," he said, extending his hand in Rogers' direction. "Dum-Dum Dugan."

"Steve Rogers." The supersoldier returned the handshake.

"How do you know our Bucky here?"

"We grew up together," Barnes said, stepping around Dum-Dum so he was standing at an equal distance from both Dugan and Steve.

"This is  _Steve_  Steve?" Dum-Dum asked and Bucky nodded. "I thought you said he was a shrimp."

Despite the gravity of the current situation, Steve shot Bucky an unamused look. "Twenty years of friendship and that's what you told them about me?"

It was meant to be a lighthearted remark, but Bucky jerked backwards so quickly it was as if he'd been physically burned. "I never said 'shrimp'," he sputtered, his blue eyes wide with fear. "I said 'smaller in stature'."

Rogers' gut clenched, his hands slowly curling into fists, as he watched Bucky desperately try to wipe the terrified expression off his face. Barnes had never been timid as a kid, giving as good as he got in the schoolyard or in verbal fight. It killed Steve to think that something had happened in isolation to make him this afraid of a small jest.

After a second of murderous thoughts, he forced himself to take a breath and bury his anger—right now they needed to focus on getting back to base in one piece. After that had been accomplished, he could worry about making Schmidt pay for what he'd done to his friend.

"Barnes!" someone shouted and Steve blinked the red from his vision in time to see an African-American man running in their direction, flanked by a shorter Frenchman and a man in a beret. All three looked thrilled to see Bucky alive and in one piece.

They charged toward their squadmate but Steve stepped in their path, Bucky's panicked expression still fresh in his mind. The men slowed to a halt uncertainly but didn't yet try to pass the supersoldier.

"Take it easy guys," Dum-Dum interjected, trying to sound casual. The three men nodded and walked more slowly around Steve.

"It's good to see you, Barnes!" the man in the beret said with a strong British accent.

Bucky looked up and schooled his face into a relaxed expression when he saw his friends. He huffed out an uneven breath, straightened up, then over-dramatically rolled his eyes. "C'mon," he drawled, throwing out his arms.

The three men didn't immediately move and instead turned in unison to look at Steve for permission. The supersoldier bit back a laugh at the overeager expressions and shrugged, lifting one hand in an "it's his call" gesture. They each shot him a quick salute before rushing their friend and burying him in cheers, claps on the back and other forms of celebration. After just a minute, they backed off, enthusiastic expressions still on their faces.

"Thanks, guys," Bucky began as he pushed his newly-mused hair out of his eyes. "But I told ya I was coming back. It takes more than that to—" he trailed off upon seeing the mortified expressions on his squad's faces, and how Steve's had drained of almost all its already pasty color. "I won't finish that sentence," he amended meekly.

"That's probably a smart call," the African-American man declared, before turning to face Steve. "So, who are you?"

* * *

After proper introductions had been made, Montgomery Falsworth stepped forward. "What's the plan, Captain?" he questioned.

Having never been addressed as 'Captain' in a context that wasn't related to his stage performance, Steve instinctively scanned the people surrounding him, looking for someone else with that rank. "Me?" he clarified a second later, after realizing his mistake.

"Yeah. What's the plan for getting back to base?" Falsworth repeated, his brows furrowing in distrust. "You  _do_  have a plan, don't you?"

"Honestly it kinda ended with 'get all the survivors out'." Steve fell silent, waiting for what was sure to be an outcry from the men.

Surprisingly, the only person who spoke up was Dum-Dum. "You know your way back to base, don't you?" he asked.

Steve nodded and pointed over his shoulder in the appropriate direction. "Forty miles, southwest."

"Then I'm all for not fixing what isn't broken."

Steve instinctively shot Bucky a quick glance, needing to make sure his friend was alright with this new turn of events. Without any hesitation, Bucky grinned and deadpanned, "Looks like you're giving the orders now, Steve."

"Okay then." Rogers was quiet for a moment as he glanced upward and took in the position of the fading sun. "We have a few more hours until nightfall. The further we get away from base, the better. Let's treat as many injured as we can and put those who can't walk on the tank or in the truck." He was referring to the two vehicles parked in the distance that the 107th had confiscated from the Hydra base.

"I have a little bit of medical training. I'll get started on that." The small group turned around to see an Oriental man standing at the edge of their circle, having listened to their every word. "Name's Morita," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Steve Rogers."

"Yeah, I've heard. Thanks for getting us out of there." He shot Steve a crisp salute, before he walked over to the group of soldier milling around a few yards away and relayed their new "orders".

"What about us?" Jones questioned, pointing at himself, Dugan, Dernier and Falsworth.

Steve scanned the destruction around him, honing in on the corpses scattered around the base, mostly Hydra, but some American. "Bury those that didn't make it and grab their tags. Get as many men as you can to help."

"On it Cap." Dum-Dum affirmed as Jones quickly relayed the message to Dernier in French. When he was finished, Dernier nodded, then led the way to find more manpower.

Bucky turned to follow the retreating figures, but Steve reached out to grab his friend's arm. He pulled back at the last minute when he remembered how Bucky reacted when Dum-Dum had hugged him without warning and settled for hurrying next to his friend and calling out, "Wait, Buck."

Barnes slowed to a stop then fixed his friend with a questioning glance. "What's up, Steve?"

"Why don't you help me check the tank? Make sure Hydra can't track us."

"Sure." Thinking that discussion was over and more than a little surprised by how well it had gone, Steve began walking toward the tank. He stopped when he realized Bucky wasn't following him and turned back around to see his friend standing at attention, his heels dug into the ground and his arms crossed over his chest. "As long as you're asking me to do this because you think I will excel at it, not because you don't think I can handle anything else," Barnes finished, his gaze ripe with challenge.

"No, Bucky, that's not it." Steve exhaled loudly as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He stared at his friend for a moment, taking in his unusually pale complexion, the dark circles ringing his eyes, and the bruise that was blossoming on his left cheekbone in the splashes of brightness from the dwindling fire. Bucky was loyal to a fault and would happily throw himself back in with everyone else, regardless of what he had just been through. In a rather bizarre turn of events, this time it would be up to Steve to look after Bucky, if he wouldn't do it himself. "You've been through a lot," Steve finally said. "I just want you to take it easy for a while."

"They've all had it rough too," Bucky shot back. "I have no right to do any less."

"None of them spent time in isolation."

"If you're worried about me, you could just say so."

"Okay, fine: I'm worried about you. Before I left, Falsworth said no one has ever come back from isolation before."

"Yeah well I got lucky." Bucky was hoping that phrase would have a greater effect but the concerned expression remained on his friend's face.

He sighed and quickly weighed his options. He could outright refuse and risk Steve's wrath (which was rather impressive for his previous stature, so Bucky wasn't sure he wanted to be the first to try it against Steve's current physique), but in all honesty, he wasn't feeling quite normal and would actually appreciate a little down time, especially until he figured out what had happened to him during the three days he'd been in isolation. His memory was still fairly foggy—most likely due to the drugs he'd been given—so he could only remember bits and pieces of his time there.

He subconsciously tugged on his right sleeve and pulled it past the crook of his elbow, where he'd seen fading track marks earlier. "Fine," Bucky conceded, drawing out the last syllabus with great exasperation. "I'll help you do your grunt work."

Steve's face split into a large grin. "Good, cos I would have ordered you to do so if you hadn't agreed willingly."

Bucky's jaw dropped. "They really gave you the title of Captain?" he gaped in Steve's direction.

The once-sickly boy considered his answer, not wanting to outright lie to his friend. Now that he'd actually seen combat, he wasn't sure what Phillips would do, especially since he'd be considered AWOL after missing his show this afternoon. There was a chance he'd be thrown into a lab upon their return, never to deploy again. Until then, though, he would use his title as a shield to protect those he cared about, and deal with any consequences when they were safely back at camp.

"That's so not fair," Bucky muttered, taking Steve's silence as an answer. He stared at his friend, then shook his head in disbelief.

Rogers responded with a wide grin. "You'll get used to it," he said, as he began walking toward the tank.

This time, Bucky followed.

* * *

They spent another hour at the base, then walked for about the same length of time. At that point, it was far too dark to see even the road in front of them, as the moon was hidden behind the thick storm clouds, so they made camp in a nearby clearing.

The able-bodied men divided themselves into groups and split off to locate water, tend to the wounded, and collect the food they could find either around the camp or in the vehicles. Even with Steve contributing almost all the food in his pockets to the cause, with around 400 men to feed, no one was going to receive more than a few handfuls of miscellaneous food items.

Steve kept a close eye on Bucky throughout all this. Though Barnes still wasn't quite as animated as he usually was, he was putting on a great show that he was suffering no ill effects from his time in isolation. But Steve had known Bucky for too long to be fooled by his friend's antics. He also knew that approaching Bucky directly would be the fastest way for him to never get an answer, so he resigned himself to making sure Bucky wasn't too far out of sight at any given point in time, should anything happen, trying to not make it obvious he was hovering.

Then, as night fell, Rogers began organizing the healthy men into shifts for watch duty. Bucky volunteered as soon as Steve suggested the idea and, almost immediately, Dum-Dum, Falsworth, Jones, and Morita took it upon themselves to explain—very loudly and prolifically—why that was a bad idea. Bucky took the onslaught quietly but his eyes widened in slight confusion at the continued outpouring of concern from his squadmates. When they had finished, he just sat by the fire, mumbling the entire time about how he wasn't an invalid.

Steve shot the group a silent thanks as he continued to assign watches and distribute weapons. When he had finished twenty minutes later, he walked over to the fire and sat down beside his friend.

Bucky glanced briefly at Rogers then turned back to the fire and stared intently at the flickering flames. "It's permanent?" he asked a beat later, as he stuck out his hands to warm them.

Steve was unsure if Bucky wanted to clarify the answer he'd received earlier, or that he just didn't remember asking all together. Steve'd seen the vials lined up around the table, so he was more than a little concerned his friend had been drugged, especially given how he had zoned out a few times on the way over here, still physically awake, but his eyes were empty, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

"So far," Steve repeated.

"Good," was all Bucky said as he nodded exactly once.

Steve let a few minutes of silence pass, as he tried to decide how to phrase his next question. He finally decided to be marginally direct, but wouldn't press the issue if Barnes declined to share.

"So how are you doing?" he ventured, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

"Steve, I'm fine. You can stop asking," Bucky shot back without looking away from the fire.

"I'm not—I only asked once!"

"You've been watching me since we left the base."

 _So much for being discrete._ "I'm just—"

"Mother-henning," Bucky interrupted, quirking his eyebrow in an accusatory manner.

"I learned from the best," Steve retorted.

They sat for a few more minutes in silence, listening to the flames crackle around them.

"You'd tell me if something was going on, right?" Steve ventured hesitantly. He wasn't looking for the details of what had happened, just whether or not Bucky still trusted him in the same way he had when they were kids.

Bucky turned and looked at Steve for a long moment. He wanted more than anything to say no, but not for the reason his friend would automatically think. Steve didn't need to know about what he'd been through, because he didn't need to have any part of that burden—no one did. Barnes was already tired of the looks of pity and disbelief from his unit, and they were only a few hours out.

"I'm just here to help," Steve continued when Bucky didn't immediately respond. And if Bucky wasn't mistaken, his friend sounded a bit hurt.

"I know that, Steve. But I'm good. Really."

Rogers stared at his friend for a long time, reading his expressions and not seeing any signs of deceit. Though he didn't completely believe Barnes was as fine as he wanted everything to think he was, Steve knew he wasn't being flat-out lied to, which given the circumstances, was more than he could have hoped for.

"Get some sleep man," he said, lightly elbowing Bucky in the side as he lay down next to the fire and closed his eyes. "We've got a long day's walk ahead of us."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

That night was particularly difficult for both Brooklyn boys.

Bucky woke up more times than he cared to count, drenched in sweat, his entire body humming with adrenaline from what must have been a nightmare. At least, that's what he figured, since he found himself unable to remember what exactly had frightened him so. After one such episode, as he lay there trying to muffle his strangled wheezes so the rest of his unit could get some much needed sleep, he heard Steve shift next to him. He had contemplated asking if his friend was awake, which would give Steve a way out if he didn't want to deal with whatever Bucky had going on, but Barnes couldn't find it in himself to bother his friend with an issue as trivial as this—everyone had nightmares, right? Especially after what he'd just been through?

 

So he did his best to stay awake, knowing that would be the best way to keep the nightmares at bay, but his time in isolation had exhausted him more than he realized and he always ended up drifting back into an uneasy rest.

On the other side of Bucky, Steve lay with his back to the fading embers, his knees tucked close to his shoulders in an attempt to ease the unyielding ache in his stomach. A few hours in, he had pulled the last bar from his pocket and broken off a large chunk of it. He'd broken that into small pieces and eaten each slowly, drinking lots of water—which they fortunately had plenty of—in between bites. His efforts dulled the hunger somewhat, but not entirely. Around two A.M., he accepted the fact that he wasn't getting any more sleep and relived Smith, who had been keeping watch around their fire. The man looked like he wanted to protest out of principle, but quickly caved to Steve's offer and snagged the newly vacated spot by the dying flames.

As it turned out, being awake through the pangs wasn't any easier and Steve was forced to steal a stick of Jones' chewing gum, hoping that would act as a placebo to keep him going until he could get some real food. When his shift ended, he tried to sleep for a few more hours but his stomach complained with such vigor that he resigned himself to watching the sun come up, hoping his body would count this "rest" as genuine sleep.

Suffice it to say both men were happy when the sun crested the horizon.

"Let's get moving fellas," Steve said loudly as soon as it was light enough to see the path. He sprang to his feet, anxious to get back to base before something more serious than his hunger plagued the unit. As he stood, though, his vision tilted wildly and he was forced to grab a nearby tree for support.

He heard a flurry of motion and someone raced over to him. "Where are you hurt?" he heard Bucky demand as he felt his friend's rough hands run up and down his sides, checking for injuries.

"I'm not." Steve shrugged out of Bucky's grip but didn't relinquish his grip on the tree. He took another quick breath, straightened up, and grinned when the world stayed steady. "I just got up too fast, that's all."

He looked up at his friend and, after blinking hard to force the two Bucky's into one, he saw that Barnes looked less than convinced.

"I promise," Steve replied, making an X over his heart, like they'd used to do when they were kids. "No injuries." His gut twinged with the half-truth, but he was able to justify it to himself by knowing it wasn't  _entirely_ a lie—he had sustained no physical injuries while taking down the base. Besides, it wouldn't do any good to tell Bucky about the drawbacks of his new physique as there was nothing he could do about the current food situation anyway.

Bucky slowly blew out the breath he'd been holding. "Okay," he finally said, but there was something in his expression that let Steve know he hadn't been entirely successful in his fib.

"How about you? How are you doing this morning?" Rogers asked, eager to change the subject. He looked critically at his friend, noting his unusually pale coloring even in the bright morning light. The bruise over his left cheekbone had darkened into a great display of purple and black, but with only minute traces of swelling, it seemed surprisingly superficial. Other than that, there were no outward signs Bucky had accrued any other injuries.

Barnes noticed Steve's inquiring gaze and made a face in his friend's direction. Steve just shrugged and fixed Bucky with an expectant look until the sergeant finally caved. "Head's a little clearer," he said almost cautiously, "but overall same as yesterday."

"Well that first part is good," Steve enthused as he wrapped his arm around Bucky's shoulders. He was careful to telegraph his movements in advance, in case his friend wanted to pull away, but fortunately met no resistance. "I haven't been able to do this for ages," he commented, leaning his head slightly on top of his friend's for emphasis.

Bucky jabbed an elbow into Steve's side, wincing in pain as it collided with rock-hard muscle, then ducked under Steve's arm and out of his grip. "You were never able to do that munchkin. I was always taller than you."

"That's not how I remember it."

"I think that magic serum scrambled your memories—"

"It would be nice to remember the rest of my dream," Dum-Dum interjected sleepily, still curled up by one of the dying fires. "I was on a date with the lovely Lola when she started talking about who was taller than who in elementary school."

"It's time to get up anyway," Bucky spat sourly as he kicked a nearby jacket that someone had rolled up and used as a pillow in Dum-Dum's direction.

As soon as everyone was awake, the vehicles were once again raided, in case the morning light revealed any food that had remained hidden yesterday. A few more rations were found and quickly divided into almost minuscule pieces among the troops. Some of the healthier men had taken the cigarettes and gum instead, sacrificing their portions for the older or the wounded.

Steve was the second-to-last for a can of ham and eggs. He was about to shovel in half of what was left but, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky staring eagerly, almost hopefully, at the can of food, unaware he was being watched. Without hesitation, Steve separated out two-thirds of the food, ate only the remaining third, then handed the can off to Bucky.

He wasn't doing this to be self-sacrificing—he was well-aware that he needed more food than a normal person just to keep his new body functioning. However, Howard had mentioned something about his body running more efficiently so, as long as he ate  _something_ more than just the dried fruit bar in his pocket, especially something with this much protein, he was banking on his body being able to live on a smaller portion of the rations until they got back.

Bucky didn't seem to notice that his portion was slightly larger than the norm and practically inhaled his food, swallowing hard a few times after he was finished, in an attempt to convince his body that it had consumed more than it actually had. There was nothing Steve could do at that point, except hand him the canteen of water. It was killing him to keep that fruit bar secret, but he knew he had to, if he wanted any chance of getting the men back to base in one piece.

Once all the fires had been put out and the wounded loaded back into the vehicles, those who had been on the last watch redistributed the weapons. Just as Dum-Dum was climbing into the tank for the first driving shift, Private Abberton walked over with a Springfield and held it out to Bucky.

Barnes flinched at the sight of the weapon, fear spiking through his system for no discernible reason. As he focused on keeping his breathing level, despite his heart beating furiously in his chest, he realized Abberton had pulled back the gun.

"Sorry man," the private said. "I just heard—"

"I was a good shot, right?" Bucky ground out, struggling desperately to compose himself. He took a few deep breaths, filling his entire chest with much needed oxygen, then tamped down the unexplained panic and reached for the weapon. "I'll take it."

"Bucky, you don't have to," Steve intervened, at the same time Abberton said, "Really, we can give it to someone else—"

"No, you're right. If something happens, it'd be good for me to be armed." Bucky forced a nonchalant expression onto his face and opened and closed his hand in an impatient gesture. After only a moment's hesitation, Abberton handed the Springfield over.

Bucky immediately held the weapon parallel to his face so he could inspect the barrel for any chips or dents. After ejecting the bullets in the chamber, he pulled the trigger twice, getting a feel for how the gun reacted. When it had passed muster, he reloaded the bullets then slid the strap over his chest and let gravity pull the barrel toward the ground.

"I'm good," he declared, after looking up to see Steve's concerned expression.

Steve stared at him for a moment longer before nodding. "Okay." Bucky could tell he was barely restraining himself from saying more but Steve quickly turned away before whatever he wanted to say slipped out.

* * *

They set off not long after that and had walked about two hours before one of the men in the middle of the pack accidentally dropped his weapon. As luck would have it, the rifle collided with the ground at exactly the right angle and discharged into the air.

Bucky, who was at the front of the group a few hundred feet away, immediately spun around. His face visibly panicked, it took only seconds for him to grab the Springfield hanging around his neck and train it on the source of the sound.

"What do you have to say for yourself, ya kraut?" Bucky growled at the lone soldier, as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Steve was next to his friend in a second. "Bucky?" he asked but received no response. Barnes' eyes were wide, but his gaze was blank, empty, unseeing. He had the barrel of the rifle so tightly shoved into his shoulder that Steve was sure it would bruise and he was staring down the barrel of the Springfield as if he were looking through a sniper's lens.

The soldiers downwind of the barrel had wisely moved out of the way, leaving only the man who had spoken in a newly formed aisle.

"Bucky, it's okay," Steve said, feeling incredibly helpless as he watched his friend suffer through what was obviously a flashback. He wanted nothing more than to steal the rifle from Bucky's hands before his friend made a decision he would later regret but, after a quick scan of the situation, decided against it as there were too many variables in play. He did file the idea away as a last resort but decided to try talking his friend back to reality first.

"It's Steve, remember? Steve Rogers from Brooklyn?" He paused, waiting for a reaction, but Bucky didn't so much as blink. "We were neighbors," he continued hastily. "Moved in together after high school. You remember that little dump we had? Boiler went out every winter, stove only worked for twenty minutes at a time…I used to be smaller and got sick a lot." Steve was fairly sure he was rambling at this point but he continued recalling any memory that came to mind. Painfully aware of every twitch of Bucky's face or hands, he went on for what felt like hours but in reality was only a few moments.

Finally Bucky blinked and his face relaxed ever so slightly. "Steve," he breathed, without looking away from his target.

"Yeah, Bucky it's me," Steve said as he stepped closer to his friend. "You're safe. We got you out."

After another painfully long moment, Bucky looked right and did a double take at his friend's new physique. "Man, that's gonna take some getting used to," he muttered, his grip on the rifle slackening ever so slightly.

Steve just nodded as he reached out, put his palm on the barrel of the rifle and gently lowered it. "You back with us?"

Bucky swallowed hard. "Yeah...Sorry man," he smiled uneasily at the soldier standing all alone and waved uncertainly.

"Let's take a walk," Steve suggested, putting a hand against Bucky's back and guiding him off the path. He was more than a little surprised at the lack of resistance from his friend. "You go ahead," he told Jones. "We'll catch up."

Steve waited until they were out of the unit's earshot before stepping around his friend so they were standing face-to-face. "Talk to me, Bucky. What's going on?"

"I don't know Steve." In that second, any semblance of stoicism shattered. Bucky stepped forward and shoved the rifle into Steve's hands. "I don't know what's wrong with me." He began pacing, his pent-up emotions bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I'm nervous all the time, my brain physically hurts, and my heart's beating so hard I'm pretty sure it's going to burst through my rib cage." He paused for a second and yanked his hands through his hair distractedly. "I don't feel like I'm in control of my body, as you saw during that fine display back there. I feel like I'm barely holding on and I don't know why." He spun around to face Steve. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

Steve was quiet for a moment as he absorbed his friend's words. "I'm so sorry Buck," he found himself saying, though he knew the words were woefully inadequate.

Bucky rubbed his face with his hands and took another deep breath. "Don't be. I made it out. That's more than anyone else could say."

Steve cautiously stepped toward his friend, and when Barnes didn't pull away, tugged him into a hug. Barnes tensed the moment Steve's arms wrapped around him, but eventually relaxed into the embrace. "We'll get through this Bucky," Steve promised. "Whether it takes days, months or years. We'll get you back in control."

"Thanks," Bucky mumbled into Steve's shirt sleeve.

They stayed like that for a while but eventually, Bucky couldn't take any more of this...emotional outpouring...and pulled away. "You know, you're not as huggable as you used to be," he commented, "what with that rock-hard muscle and all. Not as comfortable."

"I'll make sure to tell Stark."

Bucky jerked back so quickly Rogers was afraid he was having another flashback. "Stark, like Howard Stark?" Bucky clarified, his eyes shining excitedly. "You met Howard Stark?"

Despite all that had just happened, Steve was reminded of the night at the Expo where Bucky had gawked over the flying car exhibit with unfettered enthusiasm. It was a welcome change from the brooding Bucky of the last day.

"He provided the science behind all this," Steve explaining, motioning to his new body.

Bucky stared at him while shaking his head in disbelief. "I leave you alone for six months and you befriend a millionaire," he muttered. "You have to introduce me when we get back."

Steve couldn't help but grin. "Just don't stroke his ego too much. He barely fits through doorways as is."

Bucky screwed up his face, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at his friend. "I make no promises," he finally said.

"Well that's as much as I could hope for."

They stood in silence for another moment before Steve tilted his head toward the path. "Speaking of getting back, I bet the others are getting worried."

"Yeah, we can go." Bucky straightened his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out of face. Then he reached out for the rifle but Steve pulled it close to his chest, out of Bucky's reach.

"You know I'm here for you Buck," he repeated his words from yesterday. "Whatever you need."

"I know Steve," Bucky responded as his friend handed him the rifle. "I know."

* * *

The next half day passed without major incident, though Steve began to get more and more dizzy and less and less coherent as the hours drew past. Knowing they had less than a day's travel ahead, he'd eaten the rest of the bar in his pocket as they walked, taking one small piece every ten minutes or so. That combined with the canned meat he'd eaten over lunch, finally abated the ache in his stomach. He knew it wasn't going to last long, but was grateful for every moment without it.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Bucky asked, about half an hour later.

Steve smiled and put on his most convincing face. "Just a little tired. This new body is taking some getting used to." As if on cue, he forgot to lift one leg high enough and tripped over a root.

Bucky immediately reached out and steadied him. "You're shaking," he stated, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

_He was?_

Steve looked down at his gloved hand and saw the tiny tremors running through it.  _Huh._  And here he thought he was doing so well—his stomach wasn't even growling anymore.

"It's just adrenaline," he replied slowly, hoping that was truly the case. "It hits me a little differently these days." He looked up to see Dum-Dum, Morita, Falsworth and Dernier stopped around him, looking at him with expressions that mirrored Bucky's.

"You could ride in the tank," Falsworth spoke up, patting the iron vehicle rolling beside him.

Steve shook his head. "Save that space for the injured. I just need to get used to my arms and legs." He reached into his pocket, pulled out the stick of gum he'd snagged during the lunchtime ration distribution and popped it into his mouth.

"So you weren't always like this?"

"No, he was about this tall…" Bucky tore his concerned gaze away from Steve and held his hand to his clavicle. "…and about this thin." Bucky made a circle out of his index finger and thumb and showed the Brit.

"So how'd it happen?" Morita asked, waving his hand at Steve's physique.

"Yeah, I'd like to hear this story too," someone else chimed in from the front of the line. The four men other than Steve and Bucky turned to stare at the newcomer, who just shrugged unapologetically.

"Well it's about time for a stop anyway," Dum-Dum stated. He signaled to Jones, who hopped into the tank and told its current driver to bring it to a stop.

A portion of the men immediately took off for the shade, those without jackets huddling close together to those that did. As had become the norm, one group headed off to search for water while the walking wounded rotated who would be resting in the tanks for the next leg of the journey.

Steve plodded over to a tree, leaned heavily against it, and pulled off his helmet. He was exhausted to his core, his lack of sleep finally catching up with him. He heard someone clear their throat and turned to see Bucky holding out a canteen. When he'd taken a deep swig and passed it around, one of the young soldiers who'd been following them at close range piped up, "So can we get that story now?"

Steve was still surprised that someone wanted to hear about his life, given the very few people that had cared about him before the serum, but he knew that entertainment here was pretty sparse and that most of these men had been away from the States for a long time. So, after taking another drink of water, he took a deep breath and proceeded to tell the condensed version of his story, starting with meeting Dr. Erskine at Expo and ending with his disastrous show in Italy.

While he was speaking, quite the circle had formed around him and even the soldiers who were still keeping watch had their heads tilted slightly in his direction. Steve made sure to speak loud enough for them to hear too.

"Is it true you jumped on a grenade?" One of soldiers closest to them asked when Steve had finished.

Bucky turned to Steve and fixed him with a level stare. "You jumped on a grenade?" he repeated slowly, his words leaving in almost a hiss.

"It was just a dummy grenade. It wasn't designed to explode," Steve hastily explained.

"Did you know that at the time?" Bucky returned, lifting one eyebrow in a challenge.

He didn't even wait for Steve to answer before grabbing the bowler hat off Dum-Dum's head and repeatedly smacking Steve with it. "I can't believe you would do something so stupid. What if it had been real, huh? You self-sacrificing…"

Steve had many years of practice dealing with Bucky's rants, so he did as he always did after the first few moments and stopped listening. Bucky continued for a long while, much to the entertainment of the rest of the 107th, all of whom easily heard his raised voice.

"If it meant I saved the rest of the camp, I would do it again, any day," Steve piped up when Bucky paused for a breath.

"I know and I'm so glad I'm outta there. Someone has to watch your punk ass and make sure you don't end up as a footnote in the local obituaries," he grumbled as he blew imaginary dust off the bowler and dropped it back on Dum-Dum's head. The other man immediately pulled it off and pressed his fist into the top, rounding out the deep indentations in it.

"Kiss and make up!" Someone shouted from the back of the group and Bucky shot him the finger in reply.

"I don't know why I'm going to say this because you're just going to ignore it but you need to be more careful," Bucky said as he turned back to Steve.

"I promise to try," Steve replied honestly. His stomach cramped at that very moment, but he focused on keeping his face neutral. He'd made it this far on the rations, he'd be able to last the night and a few more hours tomorrow until they hit base.

"Good. Now that that's settled, Dum-Dum, who's this Lola and what makes her so dream-worthy?" Bucky asked, changing the subject since he knew Steve hated being the center of attention.

* * *

They trekked onward for a few more hours until the sun began disappearing behind the trees. While they were walking, the ache in Steve's stomach had returned with renewed force so he'd chewed an entire pack of gum, swallowing each stick when it was worn out for the measly calories; gnawed on tree bark, like most of the other troops at this point; and even smoked a cigarette, at which Bucky nearly had a conniption, but none of it was even close to quelling his hunger. He forced himself to focus on the road ahead of him, putting one foot in front of the other, hoping there'd be something he could munch on when they stopped for the night.

When Jones had finally pulled the tank over, Steve all but collapsed against the nearest tree, breathing hard, sweat pouring from every orifice.

"How much further Captain?" Dum-Dum asked, dropping to the ground beside him.

"Maybe 'nother day…at this rate. Not far...'ow."

"Are you alright Rogers?" Dugan asked, noticing the unusual drawl to the Captain's words.

"I'm fine," Steve thought but apparently he couldn't make his mouth form the words. His eyes flitted closed and when they opened again, Bucky was kneeling next to him, his face plastered with concern.

"What's going on, Steve? Tell me the truth."

"…was  _wrong_ ," he muttered with genuine surprise.

"Wrong?" Bucky repeated worriedly. "Wrong about what?"

"My...metab'lism," Steve replied weakly as his eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. I had much less free time this weekend than I was banking on.
> 
> Shoutout to Art Is The Weapon for pointing out a factual error in the first chapter. I do my best to research ahead of time, but some stuff still gets away from me. Please do let me know if I missed something.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky's heart skipped more than one beat as his friend slumped against the tree.

"Steve?" he shouted as he shook his friend's shoulder. "Steve!" But despite his efforts, Rogers remained unresponsive.

Barnes cursed under his breath, then sat back on his heels, his mind racing to figure out what Steve meant. "Metabolism...Food—he's hungry!" He spun on his back heel so he was now facing Dum-Dum. "His body must burn through food faster than ours. Do we have anything left?"

The mustachioed man shook his head. "Just a few bits of dried fruit and a biscuit or two from the C-rations. We are the rest of it at lunch since Steve said we weren't far out."

"See what you can get." Dum-Dum immediately sprinted off, catching Jones' arm and pulling him along.

Their chaotic queries resonated over the quiet camp, but Bucky tuned them out and reached over to take Steve's pulse. It took him three tries to get an accurate measurement but he was finally able to determine that Steve's heart was beating steadily, if not a little slowly for Bucky's liking. "Don't you dare do this to me, Rogers," he muttered as his own heart picked up its pace in a valiant attempt to compensate for Steve's sluggish one.

He heard pounding footsteps approaching and, seconds later, someone dropped to their knees beside him. "This is all there is," Jones said, shoving a stick of jerky and half piece of fudge, complete with bite marks, into Bucky's hands.

"It'll have to do," Bucky said grimly, accepting the little bit of food.

"I think he's been skipping out on his rations."

Barnes just shook his head, barely biting back the anger and frustration that surged through his system. "He would," he muttered. He allowed the anger at his friend's stupidity to build for another moment before he forced himself to let it go. Right now, he needed to be level-headed until he was sure his friend wasn't going to die of starvation before they arrived back at base camp.

As he was turning to wake Steve up, though, a realization struck.

"This is all the food we have left, and we have what? Six hours walk tomorrow yet?" he asked, looking at the men surrounding him.

"With the distance we covered today, more like five," Jones corrected.

"So I wake him up and give this to him now and we might go through this again before we get to camp, or I let him go hungry for a little longer and give this to him tomorrow," Bucky surmised unhappily, staring at the meagre food in front of him.

His heart ached as he was reminded of the first few weeks after he and Steve had moved out on their own, when food was sparse and they'd had to decide whether to pay for rent or food. At least then they'd always managed to swing more than half a candy bar and a stick of jerky.

He looked again at the food Jones had procured, half hoping it had multiplied, and thought hard about his choices. They had roughly another thirteen hours left, five of that walking, so giving Steve these almost scraps now would ensure he was hungry again long before they made it back to camp. But if he waited too long, he risked Steve's body turning against himself.

It was one of the worst decisions he'd ever had to make.

"We wait," he finally announced. "Let's get a fire started and lay him down. If he's low on calories, he won't be able to keep warm as efficiently."

"He could sleep in the tank," Morita suggested. "It'll be a feat getting him up there but he'll be warm."

"Or we could move some of the less injured men from the truck to the tank and have him sleep there," Dugan chimed in.

Bucky shook his head and swallowed hard. As much as he wanted to, these ideas weren't feasible. Both the tank and the truck were filled to capacity, which meant that making room for Steve would require someone else sleeping on the ground. While he was fairly certain he could find someone to do that, he  _couldn't_  ask it of them, as those who were unable to get out of the vehicles at night were the worst of the worst. "He'll have to be fine by the fire. I'll stay with him, since you won't let me take a watch anyway."

The men looked less than thrilled but accepted the new plan. Morita and Falsworth quickly built a fire then Dum-Dum, Jones and Bucky lowered Steve down next to it, pulling his jacket tightly around his torso. Bucky sat cross-legged and slid Steve's head into his lap, not caring in the slightest what it looked like to everyone else.

"You need anything else?" Jones asked, before he reluctantly headed off for his scheduled watch. He'd made it clear that he wanted to stay but Bucky had convinced him and the rest of the men to go about their assigned duties, as hovering around Steve wasn't going to make the situation better. Was that hypocritical? Probably, but since the other men were once again adamant that he didn't need to take a watch, Bucky had nothing better to do than monitor his friend's vitals.

Barnes shook his head in response to the question, and bit back an snappy quip about a time machine or superstrength to match his friend's so he could pick Steve up and sprint back to base. "Just make sure everyone else is taken care of for the night."

"Roger that. Let me know if anything changes."

"Will do."

When he was gone, Bucky looked down at Steve and swore under his breath. "You'd better make it through this, you stupid self-sacrificing jerk."

He was half-hoping Steve would rouse enough to reply, but to his great despair, there was only silence.

* * *

"Barnes!"

Bucky startled awake, accidentally elbowing Steve in the cheek as his arms flailed in subconscious search of a weapon. The supersoldier didn't so much as groan, which worried the half-lucid Bucky more than he cared to admit.

"Barnes! Wake up!"

Bucky shook his head to clear the sleep from his brain and was able to identify Dum-Dum racing toward him, tugging a soldier Barnes didn't recognize along beside him. "There's a farm!"

Bucky carefully moved Steve's head off his lap, taking a brief second to watch his childhood friend's chest rise and fall with signs of life, and sprang to his feet. "Where's a farm?"

Dum-Dum slowed to a stop, gently pushing the other soldier in front of him. "Over there," the soldier motioned off to the left. "I saw it on the way in. I would have come earlier but I just heard about what happened to Captain Rogers."

Bucky waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "That doesn't matter. How far away would you say it is?"

"Four, five miles maybe?"

"I have to go," Bucky stated, turning to face Dugan.

"We know," Dum-Dum immediately replied. "We'll watch over him until you get back."

Bucky nodded his thanks, then refocused on the soldier. "Where is this farm exactly?"

"By my best estimation, straight through those trees over there. I saw smoke in the sky, most likely piped through a chimney, so you should be able to follow the smell of wood burning if I'm off a little."

"Thank you," Bucky said, not having to force a genuine expression on his face. If the soldier…Jamison…was right, then he was literally saving Steve's life.

As Jamison walked back to his scheduled duties, Bucky turned to face Dum-Dum. "The food you guys found is by the fire. If I'm not back in a few hours, wake him up and make sure he eats it."

We've got it, Bucky," Dugan promised. "Now go!"

"Okay," Bucky blew out a long exhale, then set off in a brisk jog toward the smoke, hoping—no praying—that whoever lived there would be able to spare some food.

Steve's life depended on it.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he arrived at the house, hardly having broken a sweat, despite the uneven ground and low lighting. Thankfully, the storm clouds had disappeared during the day, so there were scant amounts of moonlight lighting his way. Still, the fact that he'd crossed the distance so quickly and efficiently hardly registered as he pounded on the door of a small home sitting by itself in the middle of a large field, far off the beaten path.

The house had been about a half-mile further south than Jamison's original estimation, but it had put Bucky close enough to see wisps of smoke rising over the treetops. He refused to let himself think it was the enemy camp and hoped with all his heart that it was a local, or another group of Americans, with food to spare.

"Please be home, please be home," he muttered, in his haste forgetting the smoke he'd seen billowing from the chimney.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a rifle being cocked and stepped to the side as the door swung open a few inches. Bucky waited for the owner to step onto the porch, but the door remained in its current position.

"Wer ist da?" a man's voice asked.

"Sprechen Englisch?" Bucky responded, his mouth slow to form the words Jones had taught him yesterday.

"Ein bisschen." Then the barrel of the rifle poked out the door. "Talk," the man ordered.

"My friend is starving to death," Bucky began, the words all leaving in a rush. "He just saved my life but didn't feel the need to tell anyone how much he needs to eat. He's passed out back at the camp, and all I have is a stick of jerky and a piece of fudge that I need to make last until tomorrow." He ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke, a nervous habit Steve had always called him on. "I literally just got him back and now I worried I might lose him again. I know things are tight and I can't pay you for any of it, but do you have any food you can spare?"

He fell silent, hoping the man had understood at least some of that. In hindsight, he should have probably tried to break his thoughts down into smaller sentences that could be more easily understood but he was too worked up to be thinking clearly.

"American?" the man said, still hiding behind the door.

"Yes," Bucky replied, nodding his head vehemently, even though the man wouldn't be able to see it in the dark. Barnes heard the rifle swing in his direction and tensed, ready to dive off the porch if need be.

"Soldier, ja?"

"Yes," Bucky repeated, quietly taking one large step backward.

Without warning, the door slammed shut and Bucky's heart dropped into his stomach. He waited for a few minutes and, when the man didn't return, he walked dejectedly off the porch. He'd allowed his hopes to rise, that this would be the house that saved Steve, but it seemed that it wasn't meant to be. His friend would have to hold on until they got back to base.

He had just reached the small gate enclosing the front yard when he heard the front door to the house swing open. "Wait!"

The weight in Bucky's chest lifted ever so slightly as he slowly turned around to see an elderly man walking toward him, a small sack of burlap in hand.

"All we can spare," he stated as he held out the bag.

"Thank you. I mean, danke!" Bucky barely refrained from giving this man a hug and instead shot him a sharp salute. "You're literally saving his life."

"Bitte," the man replied before making a shooing motion with his hands. "Gehen."

Bucky held up the bag one last time, trying to convey just how truly grateful he was, before he stuffed it into his shirt where its contents would be safe and jogged back toward the main road.

* * *

"Who goes there?" someone shouted about half an hour later, as Bucky reached the outskirts of the camp.

"It's Barnes," he shouted, without slowing down.

"Bucky?" he heard Jones ask.

"The one and only."

"You find anything?" Gabe questioned as Barnes sprinted by him.

"Yeah. But I don't know if it's enough." Bucky leapt over sleeping soldiers and dodged fires until he was on the other side of the camp, where he skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees beside his slumbering friend.

"Steve, Steve, wake up!" Bucky pulled the burlap from his shirt and placed it on the ground. He fumbled with the small knot but eventually tore it open, the light of the fire revealing a half loaf of bread, a potato and some meat.

_God bless that man._

Bucky leaned over his friend and slapped him across the face. Though Steve's cheek instantly reddened, the soldier didn't wake. Bucky cursed under his breath, then unzipped the top of Steve's leather jacket and ran his knuckles along his friend's sternum, finally garnering a reaction from the supersoldier.

"Lemme sleep," Steve mumbled, his eyelids drooping again.

"Not until you eat." Bucky tore off a hunk of bread and shoved it into Steve's slightly open mouth.

As Steve inhaled, he choked on the bread, his eyes flying open for real. He slowly focused on Bucky's face inches away from his own and it took him longer than it should to realize that he had food in his mouth.

"Where'd you…get this?" he slurred after swallowing the bite of bread.

"Just eat it," Bucky snapped, handing him another chunk.

Steve nodded solemnly, quickly realizing how upset his friend was. He'd only seen Bucky this angry a handful of times in his life, most of the times at someone else and very rarely at him.

After dutifully eating a quarter of the bread and a good portion of the ham, he felt strong enough to carefully lever himself into a sitting position. When he'd done that successfully, he scooted backward so he could lean against a nearby tree. Bucky watched him carefully, his lips tightly pursed, but didn't say a word. When Steve was settled again, Bucky began cutting the potato into slices with his pocketknife and handing them to his friend.

"'m sorry," Steve said as he took a bite out of the potato.

"You better damn well be," Bucky replied, his tone still pregnant with barely contained fury. "I just get you back and you look like this, which I thought meant the end of all that worrying. But then you pass out and I'm back in your apartment watching you struggle with pneumonia, hoping this isn't the illness that does you in."

He handed over one last piece of the potato then put the rest back into the sack, along with the remainder of the ham, bread, fudge and jerky. He tied the corners of the burlap into a knot to preserve the food and set it aside. "You need to take better care of yourself. You're no good to the rest of us if you're unconscious."

"I know." Steve paused to savor the last bite of potato. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't know this was gonna happen. Thought I'd be okay 'til we got to camp."

Bucky shook his head and sat back on his haunches. "Not really." He took a deep breath that sounded like a partially choked sob, and ran his hands through his hair. "Jesus Christ Steve," he breathed. "I thought I lost you again."

"I really am sorry Buck." For the first time since he'd passed out, Steve sat up straight and stared his friend straight in the eye. "You gotta know I would never do something like that on purpose. This," he motioned toward his muscular physique, "is all new to me too. The serum was supposed to make me more efficient, so I can run longer on whatever I do get. I guess that didn't work out as planned."

Bucky took another deep breath and rubbed at the ache that was building behind his left eye. "Fine. You get one mulligan, Rogers. One. It happens again and heads are gonna roll. Mainly yours."

Steve nodded, figuring that was pretty much as good as this whole situation could have gone. As he leaned back against the tree, he saw a canteen not far away and grabbed it. It took him a moment to battle the screw top, but he eventually got it open on his own accord and took a long drink.

"You run through water that fast too?" Bucky asked, in sudden realization.

"I guess so," Steve shrugged. "I honestly don't know."

Bucky was quiet for a moment then, without warning, he stood up and ran toward the tank. He knocked twice on the side as not to get shot by the turret operator before quickly scaling the ladder, opening the hatch, and climbing inside.

"Fellas." He nodded at the sentry sitting in the driver's seat, his rifle draped casually over his leg. A soldier with a bandage around his head was fast asleep in the passenger's seat, his face pressed against the dashboard, while another was sprawled out on the floor. "I just need…" Without getting off the ladder, he dug through the deep grooves in the side of the tank that served as pockets and pulled out a brown packet he'd seen earlier. "…this. Thanks!" he added as he hurried out of the tank.

Once he was back at the fire, he stole Steve's canteen, tore the thin paper with his teeth, and upended the packet into it.

"What is that?" Steve asked as Bucky handed the canteen back.

"Basically sugar water. But you could use the calories so drink up….but not too fast cos I don't want you to get sick again."

"That was one time," Steve muttered as he took a small sip, making a face at the overly sugary liquid. When Bucky scowled at him, he dutifully drank a little more, then capped the canteen and rested it beside him. "And I was seven."

Bucky just shrugged with feigned disinterest.

Steve dropped his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. "'m fine," he mumbled, waving his hand in Bucky's direction, knowing his friend was looking exceedingly worried. "Just tired."

"You're gonna be the end of me," Bucky muttered, his words barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

"Is this a good time to mention I kinda have super-hearing?" Steve replied quietly. He tapped the shell of his ear without opening his eyes.

Bucky just stared at him and shook his head in a mix of amazement and mild annoyance. He muttered something even more softly then exhaled loudly and plopped down next to Rogers.

"I heard that too jerk," Steve replied, as he leaned his head against Bucky's shoulder. Luckily his eyes were still closed so he didn't see the moderately rude gesture Bucky made in response.

After a few moments, Barnes heard his friend's breathing even out and thought he was asleep, so he was surprised when Steve muttered drowsily, "Thanks for always having my back."

Bucky smiled softly, then shifted against the tree so Steve's neck wasn't bent at such a sharp angle. "Anytime Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are wonderful human beings. All of you. Thanks for your incredible response to the last chapter!
> 
> Special shoutout to Mopargirl1 whose kind words of encouragement were the kick I needed to get this chapter finished.

Even though they'd only been travelling for just over a day, the men had settled into a routine. As soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, fires were put out, the injured rotated, and the weapons redistributed. While all this was happening, a handful of people came to check on Steve's status, having heard about his collapse last night while Dum-Dum and Jones had been searching for food. Rogers had reassured them he was indeed fine, thanks to his friends, and the soldiers had hurried off to spread the news.

 

When they were ready to leave camp, Steve taken his place by the tank, where he'd been walking for the last day, but was told in no uncertain terms by Dugan, Jones, Barnes and Dernier, who surprised everyone with a limited grasp of English, that he'd be riding in the tank, at least for the first leg of this trip.

Steve hated nothing more than the idea of being coddled, but he eventually conceded, knowing that riding in the tank for a little while would conserve energy and keep him from passing out again. With them being so close to the camp, it wasn't worth the risk. So he'd nodded and climbed into the tank, taking a seat next to the driver, a soldier named Howlett who Steve quickly learned spoke solely in grumbles and grunts.

He spent the first few hours keeping watch and eating small chunks of the food his friends had acquired for him. He felt slightly guilty for eating in the presence of Howlett and the two injured soldiers riding in the back of the tank, so he'd offered them some of what he had left, knowing he had more than enough food to last until they got back to camp, especially since he wasn't expending much energy just  _sitting_  there. Howlett had shaken his head and lit a cigarette instead while the soldiers in back had politely refused. Steve had encountered enough people like Howlett to know he wasn't going to change his mind so he had held out the jerky to the two injured soldiers and leveled them with his most commanding stare until they accepted.

By this point, Howlett had filled the tank with a rather impressive cloud of smoke. Steve was thrilled to no end that he no longer had issues bringing the thick air into his lungs, as he would have a few months ago, though he didn't much care for the taste it left behind. The soldiers however were having a much more difficult time inhaling. After one broke into a coughing fit, Howlett had sworn a blue streak, jammed his cigarette against the dashboard, and banged on the roof to signal Dernier, who was in currently charge of the turret, to open the hatch to let the inner compartment air out.

As the time drew on, Steve became more and more restless. When they finally stopped for one last break, less than two hours out of base camp, he scrambled out of the tank, determined to walk the last few miles, regardless of whether Bucky or the rest of his friends approved. The men must have read the steely determination on his face, for none of them argued, but Falsworth threw in an entreaty for him to take it as slow as he needed.

As they drew closer to the camp, the morale of the men improved noticeably. They had been relatively quiet this entire trip, on the lookout for Hydra ambushes, but for the last hour or so, the men began to chatter excitedly and had picked up the pace to a fast-walk in an attempt to get back to base more quickly. Just before they were about to crest the hill, beyond which lay the base, Dum-Dum, Dernier, Falsworth, Jones and Morita walked over to Steve.

"Why don't you lead us in?" Jones suggested, tilting his head to the abandoned space in front of the tank. The rest of the small group nodded their approval.

"I really don't think that's necessary," Steve was quick to reply.

"We  _kinda_  get the feeling this rescue wasn't exactly sanctioned," Morita chimed in, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.

So that was it then. The men were concerned that Steve would be disciplined for his actions once they were back in camp. To be honest, the supersoldier was as well, especially considering Phillips had the authority to throw him in a lab for the rest of the war. He had decided earlier that day though that he would face the consequences head-on as he didn't regret them in the slightest. He was just hoping that a compromise of some sort could be reached.

He nodded his thanks, then stepped in front of the tank. Over his shoulder, he saw Bucky fall into place behind him, slightly off to his left, and the rest of the group filled in from there.

"Ready?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Absolutely, Captain," Dum-Dum replied, slinging the title without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

Steve turned back to the front, grinned, then led the way onto American soil.

* * *

"You're late."

"I couldn't call my ride."

Bucky watched the exchange between the dark-haired woman and his friend with great interest, especially when Steve pulled a shattered transponder from his belt and showed it to her. It was obvious that he had kept it with him all this time to prove… _something_ to her—Bucky just wasn't sure what that something was yet.

Then the woman looked his friend up and down appraisingly but there was something different in her gaze. It wasn't harsh or calculating, like a superior inspecting the status of their agent; instead, there almost seemed to be  _concern_  in her expression, though she was doing an admirable job of hiding it.

_Steve had found himself a girl while he'd been gone_ , Bucky realized with a start. As excited as he was by that prospect, Steve was someone who threw himself into everything wholeheartedly, even when he'd been a ninety pound weakling, so Bucky was going to make sure that this woman liked Steve for the little guy he had been, not just the muscular being he was now.

Finally, even he couldn't take any more of the lovingly gazing into each other's eyes, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched.

"Hey!" he shouted, turning to make sure he had everyone's attention. "Let's hear it for Captain America!"

The camp exploded into a rousing cheer. Bucky clapped along with the rest of them, choosing to ignore the scowl his friend shot in his direction. As much as Steve hated the attention, it was good for him to realize what he had going for him, so he would realize what he had to lose the next time he forgot to mention things like he needed more food to keep his body going.

The cheering eventually died down and the crowd began to disperse. The woman—Agent Carter, he'd heard someone call her—also excused herself, after informing Steve that his presence would be required later that evening for a full debrief.

"She's great," Bucky commented once Carter had left.

"Shaddup," Steve replied, his tips of his ears turning a slight shade of red.

As they watched her walk away, Steve cleared his throat. "You know you really should get checked out."

Panic lanced through Bucky's system at the thought of needles and an examining room, but he forced a steady expression on his face. "No, really, I'm fine. You should probably go though—you're probably still the supersoldier version of dehydrated and famished."

"Nah. I mean, sure, I'm a little hungry— _normally_ hungry," he quickly clarified when Bucky fixed him with an unamused glance. "But I'll eat later with everyone else."

"Uh huh." Bucky crossed his arms and stared at Steve, who matched his posture and glared right back.

"Buck," his friend began with a warning tone.

"Steve," he shot right back.

This silent competition continued for another minute before Steve finally looked away.

"How about this?" he suggested after a moment. "We hit the mess now, get ourselves some real food, then we'll  _both_ go get checked out."

Bucky checked over his shoulder and saw the long line streaming from the opening to the medical tent. "Okay," he agreed, knowing he'd have at least an hour to figure out how to get out of the examination Steve was obviously warming him up for.

Besides, he'd been three, maybe four days without a substantial meal. It was an understatement to say he was looking forward to eating something that didn't come directly from a can.

* * *

Someone must have already spoken to those that were in charge of the rations, because as they passed through the chow line in the mess hall, Steve was given a very generous portion of food and told to return if he wanted more. The supersoldier knew rations were tight even for the bulk items, so he tried to be considerate and politely turn down her offer, but his stomach betrayed him, choosing that very moment to grumble loudly. The woman just smirked and heaped another spoonful onto his already filled plate.

It didn't escape Bucky's notice how he too received a slightly larger portion than the rest of the men and for that, he tipped his head in gratitude at the woman doling out portions. He didn't want to draw too much attention to it lest she get into trouble, but she had just smiled then motioned for him to move on.

They sat at an empty table and inhaled their food with manners that would have sent both Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Rogers into a fit under normal circumstances. With all that had just happened, though, they were sure they'd be given a pass...just this once.

"Captain Rogers?" a woman asked, a few minutes later. Mouths full, both boys from Brooklyn looked up to see a nurse standing in the tent flaps.

"Yes, ma'am," Steve quickly swallowed and rose to his feet along with the rest of the mess.

"Please sit," she said, waving her hand at all of them. "I was sent here by Agent Carter. We'd made a bed for you in medical, for you as well Sergeant Barnes. If you would follow me back…" Though her tone was light, she somehow managed to convey that they didn't have much of a choice.

Steve shoved the last forkful of food into his mouth, clapped his hands together to get rid of the crumbs, and stood. He wasn't looking forward to this exam in the slightest, having had his fill of doctors and hospitals in his youth, but he knew he wouldn't have a chance of seeing combat again without a clean bill of health.

"You coming Buck?" he asked when he didn't hear his friend rise. He knew his friend wasn't keen on medical professionals either, but if he really didn't remember anything about his time in isolation, it would be good for him to have a full examination.

Bucky was silent as he considered his options: he could refuse the examination, which he suspected would draw more attention, or he could just go, be unhappy like everyone else who had been taken captive, and be done with it in a few hours. He wasn't trying to hide anything per say, but he had more than a few questions about what had happened to him and, if he was being entirely honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers. After a minute, he came to the same realization that Steve had, knowing he'd had to have a medical exam eventually if he wanted to put all this behind him.

He muttered a few choice obscenities under his breath, fully aware his friend would hear them, then picked up the last of his biscuit, used it to wipe his plate, and stood. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

They followed the nurse across camp to the medical tent. Once inside, they were separated into two "rooms" on opposite sides of the tent. The rooms were really just corners of the tent, separated from the central walkway by cloth dropdowns which were pulled closed to give the illusion of privacy. Steve had hesitated a second before entering his "room" and had shot Bucky a look, letting him know that he wasn't far away, should his friend need a little help getting through this. Bucky, determined to show the world that nothing was indeed wrong, had nodded but shaken his head slightly before entering the room the nurse had designated for him.

Barnes sat silently while Nurse Sheridan first examined Steve, the fabric of the dropdowns so thin that he was able to hear every word of their exchange.

She was very thorough in her examination, making Steve strip down to his underclothes to ensure he hadn't acquired any injuries he wasn't disclosing. The thin fabric also allowed Bucky to see his friend's new build in its entirety and he had to admit he was impressed. Steve finally had a body to match his attitude and, given that he'd just done an enormous amount of exercise without so much as a cough, Bucky was hoping that this meant that the effects of Steve's multiple illnesses as a child had been undone. His friend deserved nothing less.

Despite the sight in front of her, Nurse Sheridan was nothing but professional, taking the time to examine each bruise and scrape on her patient. She had obviously worked with her fair share of shell-shocked soldiers, who were too high on adrenaline to feel immediate pain. In the end, she found no physical injuries, but wasn't happy with his vitals and immediately prescribed fluids and small meals to replenish what he'd been going without, spread out throughout the rest of the day. She moved Steve into the main portion of the tent, then hooked him up to an IV and told one of the other nurses to see about bringing him more food in about an hour.

As she was making a few notes in a rather thick file, the dark-haired woman who his friend was obviously enamored with—Agent… _Carter_. Right, that was her name—entered the tent. She quickly scanned it, her eyes subconsciously lighting up when they landed on Steve, and quickly walked over to his bed. Bucky was expecting Steve to get quite the lecture, judging by the level of concern he'd seen earlier in her eyes, but she just sat on the foot of his bed, quietly listed all the rules and regulation he'd broken, then added how glad she was that he'd made it back.

"Sergeant Barnes?" Bucky was snapped out of the show unfolding before him and refocused on the blond-haired nurse, who was now standing next to him.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, straining to keep his heartbeat under control. He needed to be more alert if he was this easily surprised. "I apologize."

"No need. My name is Nurse Sheridan and I will be evaluating you. We'll start with your general information, if that's alright."

Bucky nodded, knowing she was easing him into this. He racked off his name, rank, and serial number, before moving on to height, weight and blood type. Nurse Sheridan listened silently and recorded the information on a small sheet of paper. When she was finished, she moved onto taking his vitals. Though the presence of so much medical equipment was sending cold shards down his back, her continued politeness was going a long way to ease some of the tension and allow him to stay in control throughout all the measurements.

"Your heartrate is a little fast, but after all you've been through, that's to be expected." She stopped writing and looked up at him, smiling kindly. "Now, if you would please take off your shirt and pants."

Bucky had known this was coming, as he had watched Steve go through the same procedure, but his mind raced to inform him that there were track marks on the inside of his elbow, along with the other miscellaneous cuts and bruises he'd accrued from building weapons in Azzano. The latter were superficial at best, but he was sure the former was grounds for detaining him for additional tests and that was absolutely the  _last_  thing he wanted at the moment.

"I understand that this might be difficult for you," Nurse Sheridan began in a soothing tone, seeing the panic on her patient's face, "but we just want to make sure you're alright. I need to be sure we aren't overlooking anything."

"You aren't," he quickly shot back.

"And I believe you, but it's a box I need to check off, in order to clear you. I promise anything that I find will stay between you, myself and your physician, should we discover you need to see one."

_If he wanted to be cleared, this was something he had to do._  Bucky nodded reluctantly, then slowly pulled off his shirt. He was genuinely surprised to find clear, unmarred skin on the inside of his right elbow. He forced the shock off his face and smiled uneasily at Nurse Sheridan, hoping she hadn't seen his reaction. Fortunately, she had been digging in her bag and had looked up at just that moment, so he was cautiously optimistic.

"Are you ready, Sergeant Barnes?" she asked. When he nodded, she quickly palpated up and down his arms, legs and sides, her touch feather-light in case she came across a broken bone. Finding none, she then cupped her hands around his face and ran her thumb over his cheekbone, which to his great surprise was no longer tender to the touch. His curiosity building, he peered at his reflection in the side of the metal canister when she went to note these findings in his file. Though the image wasn't great, he was able to see the bruising on the side of his face was greatly muted, in fact, almost gone.

"No broken bones and no signs of infection around the few lacerations on your side," Sheridan announced, turning back to Barnes and holding out a set of clean clothes. "They should be healed in a few days, but if they're still bothering you, don't be afraid to stop by again."

Bucky nodded absently as he quickly pulled on the new clothes. They were clearly meant for a much bigger person as he'd had to roll the waistband of the pants to get them just to stay up, but they were warm and he would have worn a hospital gown if it meant getting out of that green sweater he'd been provided after his army uniform had caught on one of the weapons they had been forced to make and shredded.

"I just have one more thing I need to ask you," she began when he had sat back on the cot, her cool demeanor slipping for a brief second. "Are you experiencing any lingering effects from your time in isolation?"

He looked at her in surprise, fear lancing through his heart.

Sheridan must have seen his expression, for she was quick to say, "I'm sorry, Sergeant. Your friends came to me, only to ensure that you were properly evaluated. They told me nothing other than the fact that you might have been drugged."

Bucky just nodded, trying to force his vitals back to a normal baseline. This was fine—maybe even good. If they got this all out into the open now, hopefully they could move through it even faster. "No lingering symptoms," he finally replied and it was the truth: some of the anxiety he'd been feeling had dulled over the last day, though he wasn't sure if that was a result of drug leaving his system, or the people he was now surrounded with.

"That's good to hear. I imagine it has flushed through your system by now but we'd like to take a sample just in case. Is that alright with you?"

"Do I have a choice?"

She stared at him, her brow wrinkling in mild confusion. "Of course. You can choose to not give us any of your blood and I will still clear you. But, if this is a drug of Hydra's own creation, it would serve us well to try to find an antidote for it." When he was still silent, she continued, "I want to make it very clear that we're not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do."

"Okay." The words left his mouth in a rush before his brain could keep them back. As much as he wanted to just leave, he knew he couldn't, not with the knowledge that whatever they might find in his blood could possibly be useful to someone else later on.

Sheridan smiled kindly at him. She began replacing the instruments on the nearby table with a blood drawing kit and a bottle of what looked like alcohol.

"Whenever you're ready, Sergeant."

Bucky took a deep breath, then rolled up his left sleeve and nodded. He felt a cool liquid against his skin and knew that was the disinfectant. He screwed his eyes closed, almost able to  _feel_ the needle approached his forearm. As it dug into his inner elbow, he sunk his teeth into his lip to keep any possible sounds from escaping.

Again, she must have seen his reaction, for she rested her other hand on his shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. He however wasn't prepared for the sudden contact and pulled back sharply, dislodging her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, refocusing on just taking his blood. "Almost done…there." He opened his eyes to see the nurse pressing a bandage against the crook of his elbow.

She quickly labelled the side of the vial, then set it aside and looked at her patient.

"That's it, Sergeant. I'd like to see you again in a few days, just to make sure everything is still alright. Until then, if you experience any strange symptoms, please do come find me. It can even be off-book."

"I appreciate that, Nurse Sheridan," he said, though he knew he wouldn't take her up on her offer. Still he thanked her, manners having been instilled in him at a young age, and stepped out into the "hallway". He considered going over to Steve, but saw that he was deep in conversation with Agent Carter—he really needed to find out her first name—so he just quietly snuck out of the door.

As he stood in the middle of the camp, he realized he had no idea what to do next. He didn't know where any of his stuff was anymore, nor where any of his old squad was. All he knew was that he wasn't keen on being alone, especially after what he'd just learned, so he migrated back to the mess, knowing there should be at least a few people he recognized there.

As he entered the tent, he heard a chorus of people calling his name. He glanced to his right inside the tent and saw Dugan, Falsworth, Morita, Falsworth and Jones tilting their glasses into the air. From the smell permeating the tent, they were not filled with water.

He glanced around and saw the people doling out the rations as well as the other former POWs who were catching up on missed meals obviously looking the other way.

"You gonna live?" Morita asked tactlessly. Then he screwed up his face and released a loud burp. Either he was just a lightweight, or he was drinking on an empty stomach. From the relative emptiness of the bottle, Barnes thought it was a little bit of both.

"You can't get rid of me that easily," he shot back, feeling even more of the tension that had built up in the exam room dissipate. He threw on his widest grin and dropped onto a bench beside them.

"Wait, is Steve done?" Jones asked, still sounding semi-sober.

Bucky nodded.

"Great." The men shot to their feet and hurried out of the mess, leaving Bucky alone at the table.

A few seconds later, Dernier poked his head back into the room and shouted in French at Bucky, motioning with both hands for him to stand and follow. Never one for doing what he was told, Bucky very slowly rose to his feet and shuffled overdramatically toward the door. Dernier shook his head, cursed, then grabbed Bucky's arm and pulled him along.

His heart sank as he realized they were headed back toward the hospital tent, but it was hard to stay fearful with the excited chatter of his friends around him.

Dum-Dum threw open the flaps dramatically and ushered the other men inside. Bucky saw Agent Carter glance in their direction then toward the ceiling, as if asking for patience.

"I believe this is my cue to leave, Captain," she finally said. "Oh-seven-hundred."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his gaze following her all the way out the tent.

Without waiting for an invitation, the four men sat down on Steve's bed and handed him an extra glass one of them had been carrying. Bucky was the only one who glanced at Steve for permission but the supersoldier just shrugged and scooted over so there was room for Barnes on the bed. A half-full glass was shoved into Barnes' hand as well.

"What's all this?" Steve asked, sniffing at the clear liquid.

"We're celebrating!" Dum-Dum replied. "Also we thought you'd be bored so we brought the entertainment."

The head nurse, who had been with a patient on the other side of the tent, finally glanced up and fixed them with a deadly glare. When she spied the bottle in his hand, her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to object.

"There's a glass of this in it for you if you don't tell," Dugan spoke up, waving the bottle of schnapps in her direction. She considered the offer with a scowl but, after reading the label and realizing it was a fairly expensive brand, nodded. Dum-Dum held out the bottle to her but she shook her head and motioned to the patients around her. "I'm off at eight though."

"We won't be long," Dugan promised with a wide smile. Then he turned back to the little group and raised his glass in a toast. "Cheers boys!"

As they clinked glasses, Bucky was struck with the realization that he had indeed made it out, that this wasn't just some dream, that he was actually back on what was technically American soil. There were still some things that didn't make sense to him—like how he'd ran almost six miles in around half an hour in the dark, how his body was almost magically healed, and how he had no problem hearing conversations going on across the room—but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could figure it out with the help of Steve and his newfound friends.

As the men began listening to Dum-Dum tell a wild tale of his first date with Lola, Bucky glanced over at Steve. "You know I never did thank you for coming after me," he said quietly.

Steve shook his head, then shifted slightly so he could look his friend in the eye. "You would have done the same for me. Hell, you  _have_ done the same for me."

"Well you did just go AWOL and break about fifty rules and regulations to save my sorry ass. I wasn't gonna let you starve to death."

"Still, you shouldn't've had to deal with all that after everything you'd just been through."

That caught Bucky off guard and he was quiet a moment while he considered his next response. "Yeah the timing kinda sucked," he said finally, "but I would have done the same thing, even in a different set of circumstances. And before you say anything, I know you would have to. So we can keep this circle going on and on, but I need you to know that I can't thank you enough for what you did."

Steve just shrugged. "The line just wasn't over yet," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

And to Bucky, it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of A Long Day's Walk. Thanks for all your support along the way; I appreciate every single favorite, follow, review and read!
> 
> Until the next story!
> 
> usa123
> 
> (Find me on Tumblr: usaonetwothree !)


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